Mom died five years ago today.
I don't like the world nearly as much without her.
Anytime I sit and think about it, I'm so grateful I got a chance to say goodbye and to tell her how much I love her before she left.
Take a moment and tell someone you love just how much, even if you think they already know.
The less regrets in life, the better.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Saddest Valentine's Day Ever
My father's wife† sent me a very special Valentine.
"How nice," you may be thinking right about now.
Step back, funk soul brother;$ it *came* that way.
She sent me an EMPTY CHOCOLATE BOX.‡
For the record, my father and the Wicked Stepmother recently went on a two-week Hawaiian cruise.
I had dinner with Dad upon their return, and he told me Peach got me a present, but she drank it before she got home.
Yeah, she thinks she's as funny as I think I am.§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Henceforth to be knows as The Wicked Stepmother. You'll understand here in a second.
ETA: $FOOTNOTE (dollared): Now I can't get that song out of my head. I earwormed myself.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And when the Brothers Grimm write about my life, you'll be my witnesses.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Apparently it runs in the family... and we're not even blood. For those of you scoring at home, there was actually a bag of Godiva Gems waiting in the back seat of the car. Y'know... don't cry for me, Valentina.
"How nice," you may be thinking right about now.
Step back, funk soul brother;$ it *came* that way.
She sent me an EMPTY CHOCOLATE BOX.‡
For the record, my father and the Wicked Stepmother recently went on a two-week Hawaiian cruise.
I had dinner with Dad upon their return, and he told me Peach got me a present, but she drank it before she got home.
Yeah, she thinks she's as funny as I think I am.§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Henceforth to be knows as The Wicked Stepmother. You'll understand here in a second.
ETA: $FOOTNOTE (dollared): Now I can't get that song out of my head. I earwormed myself.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And when the Brothers Grimm write about my life, you'll be my witnesses.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Apparently it runs in the family... and we're not even blood. For those of you scoring at home, there was actually a bag of Godiva Gems waiting in the back seat of the car. Y'know... don't cry for me, Valentina.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Pretty. Useless.
You are SO glad I found my camera and its slippery cable.
Chronologically, here's the first set of photos I cleaned off the old memory card:
I like botanical gardens. I like taking pictures of plants. I now have a membership to the Denver Botanical Gardens. It's one of the many things I like to do with my Fridays off.
This one looks like it would make an excellent basis for a Smash Putt hole.
But that's another story for another day.
Chronologically, here's the first set of photos I cleaned off the old memory card:
I like botanical gardens. I like taking pictures of plants. I now have a membership to the Denver Botanical Gardens. It's one of the many things I like to do with my Fridays off.
This one looks like it would make an excellent basis for a Smash Putt hole.
But that's another story for another day.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Lost the Camera Cable
That was August.
Found the cable in December, but lost the camera.
Found the camera this week, then realised the cable I found was for an old cell phone.
Bought a new cable today.
Wondering if hundreds of pictures of the Liberace Museum are too passé to post.
Found the cable in December, but lost the camera.
Found the camera this week, then realised the cable I found was for an old cell phone.
Bought a new cable today.
Wondering if hundreds of pictures of the Liberace Museum are too passé to post.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
I Can't Believe I Forgot to Hit Publish
I found this on December 3:
TOTALLY FUNNY KNITTING COMIC
I shared it on Twitter. I also emailed it to Brother, Father and Kelley.†
I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO HIT PUBLISH.‡
See... told you I'd be around.§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Who are less likely to appreciate it as fully as you do.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Old... feeble...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Vintage, but around. Late, but around. Behind the times, but around.
TOTALLY FUNNY KNITTING COMIC
I shared it on Twitter. I also emailed it to Brother, Father and Kelley.†
I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO HIT PUBLISH.‡
See... told you I'd be around.§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Who are less likely to appreciate it as fully as you do.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Old... feeble...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Vintage, but around. Late, but around. Behind the times, but around.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
I Have a Story for That
My friend Laura said that was my signature phrase.†
But I do.‡
For 20 years, I have made Chex Mix with M&Ms for the Super Bowl.§ Oh, sure, sometimes I bring something in addition, but always Chex Mix with M&Ms.
Two years ago, we were standing around in Matt's kitchen, reminiscing. Matt brought up that it was our 20th year of Elk Bowl mayhem and we had missed an opportunity to ramp up the festivities for the 20th.
Justice, who is becoming more of an accountant every day,¶ through a series of hand gestures and convoluted explanations, illustrated how the next year would actually be the 20th.
And there was much rejoicing.
Meanwhile, back in my brain...#
Those personalised M&Ms had just come out and I'd been dying to make my own M&Ms. It seemed a match made in silly traditions heaven.
So in January 2010, I ordered the M&Ms with the picture of the elk, the "Elk Bowl XX," "Elks 20 years" and "Elks BBB."††
Five pounds of personalized M&Ms costs about $170.
Just for the record.
So this year, the Supreme Elk sent out an email about the 20th and did we want t-shirts? and let's design some t-shirts and such.‡‡
Justice, frickin' accountant, wrote back to say, "Uh, can you not count? This is the 21st. You missed the 20th."§§
Through a series of emails and convoluted explanations, he illustrated how the previous year had been the 20th.
We'll deal with Justice at the party today.¶¶ Meanwhile, we're saying fuck it## - we don't remember half of them anyway,††† so who cares if it's 20 or 21?
Happy Super Bowl, everybody.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Along with, "I could make that," and "I have this CD."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Have a story, that is.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the love of all that is holy, please sprinkle a whole flock of trademark and copyright and registered trademark stuff on that. There's enough proprietary material in there to keep a flotilla of lawyers happy for years.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is not a compliment.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where it's dark and quiet. You should consider vacationing in there.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Beer Babes Brotherhood
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): "Such" mostly revolving around "t-shirts."
§§FOOTNOTE (rage... swirling...): Must... control... fist of death...
¶¶FOOTNOTE (quack quack): I'm guessing it'll involve Duck Tape and nudity. His, not ours.
##FOOTNOTE (pound the Justice!): Mostly, we're saying, "Fuck him."
†††FOOTNOTE (I can see your house from here): Turns out that's the theme of the t-shirt we eventually agreed upon.
But I do.‡
For 20 years, I have made Chex Mix with M&Ms for the Super Bowl.§ Oh, sure, sometimes I bring something in addition, but always Chex Mix with M&Ms.
Two years ago, we were standing around in Matt's kitchen, reminiscing. Matt brought up that it was our 20th year of Elk Bowl mayhem and we had missed an opportunity to ramp up the festivities for the 20th.
Justice, who is becoming more of an accountant every day,¶ through a series of hand gestures and convoluted explanations, illustrated how the next year would actually be the 20th.
And there was much rejoicing.
Meanwhile, back in my brain...#
Those personalised M&Ms had just come out and I'd been dying to make my own M&Ms. It seemed a match made in silly traditions heaven.
So in January 2010, I ordered the M&Ms with the picture of the elk, the "Elk Bowl XX," "Elks 20 years" and "Elks BBB."††
Five pounds of personalized M&Ms costs about $170.
Just for the record.
So this year, the Supreme Elk sent out an email about the 20th and did we want t-shirts? and let's design some t-shirts and such.‡‡
Justice, frickin' accountant, wrote back to say, "Uh, can you not count? This is the 21st. You missed the 20th."§§
Through a series of emails and convoluted explanations, he illustrated how the previous year had been the 20th.
We'll deal with Justice at the party today.¶¶ Meanwhile, we're saying fuck it## - we don't remember half of them anyway,††† so who cares if it's 20 or 21?
Happy Super Bowl, everybody.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Along with, "I could make that," and "I have this CD."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Have a story, that is.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the love of all that is holy, please sprinkle a whole flock of trademark and copyright and registered trademark stuff on that. There's enough proprietary material in there to keep a flotilla of lawyers happy for years.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is not a compliment.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where it's dark and quiet. You should consider vacationing in there.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Beer Babes Brotherhood
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): "Such" mostly revolving around "t-shirts."
§§FOOTNOTE (rage... swirling...): Must... control... fist of death...
¶¶FOOTNOTE (quack quack): I'm guessing it'll involve Duck Tape and nudity. His, not ours.
##FOOTNOTE (pound the Justice!): Mostly, we're saying, "Fuck him."
†††FOOTNOTE (I can see your house from here): Turns out that's the theme of the t-shirt we eventually agreed upon.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Islands in the Stream of Consciousness
It could be one of *those* blogposts.†
A few things‡ have happened since last I (really) posted.
*ahem*
I could get seriously philosophical here, because, as I was lining up my excuse ducks,§ I realised how telling they really are.
My first excuse duck?¶
Werk.#
I suspect I genuinely have more work than I used to, now that I'm a Paid Hack for the Corporate Machine, but I can say for a fact that my time is parcelled out very differently. I have vacation time. And sick time. And hours.
Practically, it's not that much different from when I was contract. Philosophically, I feel a much greater sense of obligation.
Plus, the stress is enormously greater, what with expense reporting and million-dollar deadlines and million-dollar deadlines and Hans and United Way campaigns and the impending Oompa Loompa Revolution and stuff.
Duck!††
Blogui.‡‡
Steve. §§
And Nathan.¶¶
Wii.##
I lost my camera.†††
But I now have a lot of stories.
So I'll be around.‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): One may wonder that there's a blogpost at all. One may have strongly hinted on Twitter about one's suspiciously absent blogposts. You know who you are.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One. Two. 2010.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know, so you can shoot them down.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's a good, all-purpose duck, which is a real phrase about real ducks in duck shows and one of Steve's best-loved terms. More on Steve later. But in case you wanted to know, some ducks are raised for down, some for meat and a good, all-purpose duck has qualities that make it good for both. You're welcome.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which differs from "work" in the face you make when you say it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's the second duck, but who's counting.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Occasional bouts of techui, under which I shamefully ignored Twitter and occasionally email for abnormally wide swaths of time.
§§FOOTNOTE (time swirls when you're having fun): Because we've been doing lots of fun stuff, and fun stuff takes *time*.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (is that a Wii controler? EEK!): Who bribed me to Vegas with martinis and sushi, then moved to New Zealand, leaving me bereft. I was totally reft before that.
##FOOTNOTE (bomp bomp): Wii is totally kicking my ass. Not in the way you're thinking. I'm totally intimidated by it and, even though My Friends at Nintendo have sent me games and a disco light and a cool game involving yarn and felt, I still play more on the nephews' Wii than on my own. Because my Wii scares me.
†††FOOTNOTE (very, very cross): Seriously. All my Vegas photos - including the Liberace Museum, which is now closed - plus the Christmas Eve Ugly Sweater Party and an assortment of other worthy subjects. I think the car ate it. The car ate Kate's CDs; we tore the car apart looking for them, but the car just spit them out two years later when I was looking for the cell phone I'm convinced it ate.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (stitched together like Frankenstein's monster): I'd do more now, only I received what I see as barely-veiled threats should I not post something soon.
A few things‡ have happened since last I (really) posted.
*ahem*
I could get seriously philosophical here, because, as I was lining up my excuse ducks,§ I realised how telling they really are.
My first excuse duck?¶
Werk.#
I suspect I genuinely have more work than I used to, now that I'm a Paid Hack for the Corporate Machine, but I can say for a fact that my time is parcelled out very differently. I have vacation time. And sick time. And hours.
Practically, it's not that much different from when I was contract. Philosophically, I feel a much greater sense of obligation.
Plus, the stress is enormously greater, what with expense reporting and million-dollar deadlines and million-dollar deadlines and Hans and United Way campaigns and the impending Oompa Loompa Revolution and stuff.
Duck!††
Blogui.‡‡
Steve. §§
And Nathan.¶¶
Wii.##
I lost my camera.†††
But I now have a lot of stories.
So I'll be around.‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): One may wonder that there's a blogpost at all. One may have strongly hinted on Twitter about one's suspiciously absent blogposts. You know who you are.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One. Two. 2010.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know, so you can shoot them down.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's a good, all-purpose duck, which is a real phrase about real ducks in duck shows and one of Steve's best-loved terms. More on Steve later. But in case you wanted to know, some ducks are raised for down, some for meat and a good, all-purpose duck has qualities that make it good for both. You're welcome.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which differs from "work" in the face you make when you say it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's the second duck, but who's counting.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Occasional bouts of techui, under which I shamefully ignored Twitter and occasionally email for abnormally wide swaths of time.
§§FOOTNOTE (time swirls when you're having fun): Because we've been doing lots of fun stuff, and fun stuff takes *time*.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (is that a Wii controler? EEK!): Who bribed me to Vegas with martinis and sushi, then moved to New Zealand, leaving me bereft. I was totally reft before that.
##FOOTNOTE (bomp bomp): Wii is totally kicking my ass. Not in the way you're thinking. I'm totally intimidated by it and, even though My Friends at Nintendo have sent me games and a disco light and a cool game involving yarn and felt, I still play more on the nephews' Wii than on my own. Because my Wii scares me.
†††FOOTNOTE (very, very cross): Seriously. All my Vegas photos - including the Liberace Museum, which is now closed - plus the Christmas Eve Ugly Sweater Party and an assortment of other worthy subjects. I think the car ate it. The car ate Kate's CDs; we tore the car apart looking for them, but the car just spit them out two years later when I was looking for the cell phone I'm convinced it ate.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (stitched together like Frankenstein's monster): I'd do more now, only I received what I see as barely-veiled threats should I not post something soon.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Some NFL Teams Should be Pink*
I am NOT going to talk about what happened at the Broncos Raiders game last week.†
I will, however, make a brief‡ observation on the NFL.
Many of the teams that most need to be pink aren't.§
When all the snide and snark drains away, I still want this:
I have all kinds of good Nintendo stuff,¶ Liberace stuff,# mascara stuff†† and maybe even a bit of knitting stuff.‡‡
Really... stay tuned!§§
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked... no, seriously): That's "pink" as in "Victoria's Secret," not "Pink" as in "Get This Party Started."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Brother texted me: "What the hell happened? I came in, it was 0-0, I put the groceries away, it was 14-0" While I was answering him, trying to find different ways to say "suck," they scored again. Dr. Doom opted for donuts at Safeway as a viable fun alternative to the game. OK, now I'm really not going to talk about it. And it truly takes a saint not to bitch about such a debacle.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Look how funny I am! I made a panty pun!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Detroit Lions, I'm looking at you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wii! (and in my head that's "wheeeee!" so it's another sort of pun, just doesn't translate well to print)
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Really.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Really.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Shock and awe!
§§FOOTNOTE (the mind boggles. Twice.): This blog is what RSS feed was MADE for.
I will, however, make a brief‡ observation on the NFL.
Many of the teams that most need to be pink aren't.§
When all the snide and snark drains away, I still want this:
I have all kinds of good Nintendo stuff,¶ Liberace stuff,# mascara stuff†† and maybe even a bit of knitting stuff.‡‡
Really... stay tuned!§§
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked... no, seriously): That's "pink" as in "Victoria's Secret," not "Pink" as in "Get This Party Started."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Brother texted me: "What the hell happened? I came in, it was 0-0, I put the groceries away, it was 14-0" While I was answering him, trying to find different ways to say "suck," they scored again. Dr. Doom opted for donuts at Safeway as a viable fun alternative to the game. OK, now I'm really not going to talk about it. And it truly takes a saint not to bitch about such a debacle.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Look how funny I am! I made a panty pun!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Detroit Lions, I'm looking at you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wii! (and in my head that's "wheeeee!" so it's another sort of pun, just doesn't translate well to print)
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Really.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Really.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Shock and awe!
§§FOOTNOTE (the mind boggles. Twice.): This blog is what RSS feed was MADE for.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Werk of the Day
I had a dream last night that Hans and I jokingly set up Cat for Scale as an oil property - oh, not in any real way. This wasn't some elaborate practical joke. We just got to giggling about oil property sales and how some people must pick properties they want to buy or sell† and... voila!‡ Cat for Sale!
During our weekly conference call with the marketer on our current divestiture, Hans made an aside about the Nine Lives 4-1 well and the marketer overheard us and asked the API number.§ We thought he knew we were joking, so we made up an API number, randomly adding digits until he stopped us.
Then the ersatz well showed up on the sales brochure that went out to potential buyers.
Then we had to explain to the Senior VP and General Counsel that it was a joke.
Then the Senior VP and General Counsel explained to us how you never want to remove items from the sales brochure, only add them.¶
Meanwhile, the API number we fabricated turned out to be in the hottest oil field in the western hemisphere and high-powered multinational oil conglomerates were in a bidding war on my cat.
My freakin' cat.
I need to go work at McDonalds now.#
Or maybe I need a vacation.††
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like some girls pick football teams in the pool - the uniforms are pretty, I used to know a guy from Tennessee, that Tom Brady is just so dreamy... not that guys couldn't possibly do this to, but I've never heard one admit to it.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is French for "couple of dumb-asses."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A social security number for wells - all unique, never used twice, the first two digits indicate the state, the next three are the county and the remaining are a unique identifier, occasionally incorporating coding for horizontal or offshore or other types of wells.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is true. If we're not sure about something, we leave it out so later we can go, "Surprise! We found you 1200 more acres and a tank farm!"
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Though I fear two months at McDonalds would bring dreams of the cat with a side of fries.
††FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire...
During our weekly conference call with the marketer on our current divestiture, Hans made an aside about the Nine Lives 4-1 well and the marketer overheard us and asked the API number.§ We thought he knew we were joking, so we made up an API number, randomly adding digits until he stopped us.
Then the ersatz well showed up on the sales brochure that went out to potential buyers.
Then we had to explain to the Senior VP and General Counsel that it was a joke.
Then the Senior VP and General Counsel explained to us how you never want to remove items from the sales brochure, only add them.¶
Meanwhile, the API number we fabricated turned out to be in the hottest oil field in the western hemisphere and high-powered multinational oil conglomerates were in a bidding war on my cat.
My freakin' cat.
I need to go work at McDonalds now.#
Or maybe I need a vacation.††
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like some girls pick football teams in the pool - the uniforms are pretty, I used to know a guy from Tennessee, that Tom Brady is just so dreamy... not that guys couldn't possibly do this to, but I've never heard one admit to it.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is French for "couple of dumb-asses."
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A social security number for wells - all unique, never used twice, the first two digits indicate the state, the next three are the county and the remaining are a unique identifier, occasionally incorporating coding for horizontal or offshore or other types of wells.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is true. If we're not sure about something, we leave it out so later we can go, "Surprise! We found you 1200 more acres and a tank farm!"
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Though I fear two months at McDonalds would bring dreams of the cat with a side of fries.
††FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire...
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Fascinating
America before Pearl Harbor... in vivid Kodachrome.
Sure, not my usual fare, but I love this stuff. And I love all of you. So I share.
I'm saintly that way.
Sure, not my usual fare, but I love this stuff. And I love all of you. So I share.
I'm saintly that way.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Heady Stuff
How much more cooler can you get with a cupcake wrapper? None. None more cooler.
Because this cupcake wrapper goes to eleven.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Word of the Day
Hey, look! It's my middle name!†
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those footnotes aren't just for decoration, baby.‡
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus, Marin Anacoluthia Untiedt has such a nice ring to it.
Monday, August 30, 2010
My Life in Munitions Engineering
Christmas my freshman year in college, my father gave me a book called "Discover What You're Best At."† It consisted of a number of sections, each with an SAT/IQ-style test to evaluate the test-taker's proficiency at a career skill like logic, clerical, business acumen.
When I got back to my dorm room in January, I dutifully waited for my roommate to go out catting about‡ so I could have the two hours' required uninterrupted peace to get through the tests. I tested. Carefully, I tallied my scores.
I was off the charts in all categories%... except one.
You know those spatial relations tests? The ones where they show you a bunch of cubes stacked together in a configuration, then ask you to choose which one is the same, but from a different angle? That one, not so much.
Checking my scores against the career possibilities listed in the back of the book, it said I could be anything I set my pointy little head to§ except a mechanical engineer or munitions expert.
It said nothing about modular knitting. Maybe it should have.
As I may have mentioned, I'm knitting two Tamarix Quilt baby blankets¶ for my two favourite# cousins.
Now, you†† can knit the thing in 100 individual squares and sew them all together. Or you can knit it together as you go along and *not* sew 100 individual squares together.
I hear you.
Heather, the designer, is very graciously shepherding@ a KAL on Ravelry. Damned good thing for some of us who are destined never to field strip an AK-47.
There's a tutorial in the magazine, part of the pattern practically, that shows how to knit the whole thing together as you‡‡ go. Problem is, my spatial retardation doesn't allow me to go there without a fight.
First, she gives instructions on how to join a square on the left or on the right. It took me ten minutes to figure out whether it was the new knitting or the old square on the left... but I got that one on my own.
Then I cast on the requisite 39 stitches for a new square, picking them up along the edge of the existing square. Only I didn't think far enough ahead to realise that 39 stitches is two sides of a square, so I should only have picked up 19 or 20 stitches, then cast on the rest. I was halfway through the new square before I realised something was horribly wrong.
THEN, since I was knitting from left to right, it never occurred to me to think right AND left. I assumed if *I* was going from left to right, the only way anything could be done was to join the old knitting on the left end of the new knitting.
NOW I've finished the first row of squares. I told Heather I was planning on knitting ten strips of squares and sewing them together, and she pointed out§§ that I¶¶ could knit the whole thing together as I went along.
*blink blink blink*
I am paralysed. How should I proceed? Should I 1) dive in and try to knit, sometimes joining on two sides, 2) stick with my original ten-strips-and-sew plan, or 3) try building a bridge in my living room for mechanical aptitude practice?^
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Possibly as a reaction to me telling him I was a theatre major.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I believe it was 2.2 seconds, a statistic to make Porsche jealous. My first roommate was... social.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which, by the way, did nothing to help me discover what I was *best* at.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Free to Be... You and Me" is earworming me like a mother right now - those Target commercials don't help
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): From the latest Interweave Knits.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and most fertile.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "you," I mean "I."
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Ha! Sheep joke!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I
§§FOOTNOTE (I am incapable of straight thinking): Very optimistically, given my proven inability to turn right when the situation called for it.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum slowly): And by "I," I mean "Heather or some other munitions expert."
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Or - and I just thought of this one - I could knit in a spiral, forcing me to knit the last square together with FOUR other squares. To gain saint points, of course.
When I got back to my dorm room in January, I dutifully waited for my roommate to go out catting about‡ so I could have the two hours' required uninterrupted peace to get through the tests. I tested. Carefully, I tallied my scores.
I was off the charts in all categories%... except one.
You know those spatial relations tests? The ones where they show you a bunch of cubes stacked together in a configuration, then ask you to choose which one is the same, but from a different angle? That one, not so much.
Checking my scores against the career possibilities listed in the back of the book, it said I could be anything I set my pointy little head to§ except a mechanical engineer or munitions expert.
It said nothing about modular knitting. Maybe it should have.
As I may have mentioned, I'm knitting two Tamarix Quilt baby blankets¶ for my two favourite# cousins.
Now, you†† can knit the thing in 100 individual squares and sew them all together. Or you can knit it together as you go along and *not* sew 100 individual squares together.
I hear you.
Heather, the designer, is very graciously shepherding@ a KAL on Ravelry. Damned good thing for some of us who are destined never to field strip an AK-47.
There's a tutorial in the magazine, part of the pattern practically, that shows how to knit the whole thing together as you‡‡ go. Problem is, my spatial retardation doesn't allow me to go there without a fight.
First, she gives instructions on how to join a square on the left or on the right. It took me ten minutes to figure out whether it was the new knitting or the old square on the left... but I got that one on my own.
Then I cast on the requisite 39 stitches for a new square, picking them up along the edge of the existing square. Only I didn't think far enough ahead to realise that 39 stitches is two sides of a square, so I should only have picked up 19 or 20 stitches, then cast on the rest. I was halfway through the new square before I realised something was horribly wrong.
THEN, since I was knitting from left to right, it never occurred to me to think right AND left. I assumed if *I* was going from left to right, the only way anything could be done was to join the old knitting on the left end of the new knitting.
NOW I've finished the first row of squares. I told Heather I was planning on knitting ten strips of squares and sewing them together, and she pointed out§§ that I¶¶ could knit the whole thing together as I went along.
*blink blink blink*
I am paralysed. How should I proceed? Should I 1) dive in and try to knit, sometimes joining on two sides, 2) stick with my original ten-strips-and-sew plan, or 3) try building a bridge in my living room for mechanical aptitude practice?^
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Possibly as a reaction to me telling him I was a theatre major.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I believe it was 2.2 seconds, a statistic to make Porsche jealous. My first roommate was... social.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which, by the way, did nothing to help me discover what I was *best* at.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Free to Be... You and Me" is earworming me like a mother right now - those Target commercials don't help
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): From the latest Interweave Knits.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and most fertile.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "you," I mean "I."
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Ha! Sheep joke!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I
§§FOOTNOTE (I am incapable of straight thinking): Very optimistically, given my proven inability to turn right when the situation called for it.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum slowly): And by "I," I mean "Heather or some other munitions expert."
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Or - and I just thought of this one - I could knit in a spiral, forcing me to knit the last square together with FOUR other squares. To gain saint points, of course.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
OMG... O M G... omgomgomgomg
John Cusack is going to play Edgar Allen Poe.
I knew all this sainthood shit would pay off eventually and I would be rewarded.
I knew all this sainthood shit would pay off eventually and I would be rewarded.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
An Account of the Recent Past
How 'bout a big, ol' wide-tongued full lick of the pig?
In which we briefly explore† Dr. Doom Turns 6,% Lake McConaughy,‡ the Colorado Renaissance Festival§ and Lakeside Amusement Park.¶
Dr. Doom's 6th birthday was animal-themed and included a visit from the Jungle Lady and her many reptiles, amphibians and bugs.
There was a snake cake.
A rubber gift snake for the birthday boy...
...which maybe should have been presented at the end of the show for minimal distraction.
Anyway, there was snake discussion.
And snake jewelry, both in the form of a Scarlet Kingsnake bracelet...
...and a python necklace.
I don't know about you, but I would never want to subject a snake to a passel of six-year-olds. Six is a... squirrely age. Though it was worth the price of admission for this exchange:
"My brother found a snake when he was camping and he caught it and he brought it home and now he has, like, six snakes."
"My brother is in jail."
The turtle races were pretty good too.
[SUMMARY: And a good time was had by all... except maybe the snakes.]
The annual trip to The Lake included a record 757,000 kids this year...
...but that didn't stop me from crossing "skinny dipping" off my bucket list.
As has become tradition,†† Shanny and I stayed up late one night at the campfire chatting, stargazing and exploring the funky, soulful world of Shanny's massive music collection.
Just after the moon dipped below the southeastern horizon, Shanny said, "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but it's a beautiful night, the weather's perfect, the moon's gone down and there's nobody around. You want to try skinny dipping?"
There we were, neck-deep in water, looking at the rural sky coated in a crust of stars. The water was cool, but not chill. Nothing nibbled at protruberances. The small-town tide lapped at our every nerve ending. We chatted, then wrapped up and got warm by the fire.
The next morning, Connie greeted me with, "I understand you got naked with my husband last night." And she giggled.
I love my friends.
Other than that, there was the usual water, sky, recreation...
Well, the Wave Runner was new this year.
But there was the usual floatilla of shiny plastic inflatables.
And the campfire.
In scientific news, The Lake was up 27 feet from where it was last year when we were there - at 96% capacity.‡‡
There wasn't a lot of beach to go around and we teamed up with a group of campers to hold our grove...
...which was under surveillance from the myriad campers who didn't come in on Thursday and maybe never found a spot to pitch their tents.§§
But, like the steadfast dragonflies,@ we held our space for the weekend.
Until it was time to say goodbye for another year.
[SUMMARY: A good time was had by all.]
Steve isn't skydiving this summer, so he has a mess of time to do other things. Under the auspices of "I haven't been to the Renaissance Festival in twenty years or more," we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival.¶¶
My how things have changed. Like Times Square, Disney has had its influence. Y'all know I've got nothing against pirates, but a good quarter of the faire now seems to be devoted to Captain Jack Sparrow.
There are no wenches, those dingy, corseted broads who kissed men with overpainted lips of crimson, neon pink and orange for a dollar. All in all, the thing where absolutely everybody is trying some gimmick to get a buck is gone.
On the bright side, there were greyhounds and ducks and the cutest little piggle## you ever did see. And a spiffy carillon.
On the other hand, a museum of medieval torture devices that was simply awful. And not for the torture.
Plus? A woman in full costume was brandished a frickin' Twilight umbrella and talking on her cell phone when the rain started. That's so not 15th century.
We decided we don't need a Renaissance Festival fix for another 20 years.
[SUMMARY: Disney should stick with movies.]
Steve and I also visited Lakeside Amusement Park.
Back in the day, Steve an I both worked at the historic Elitch Gardens,††† which was only blocks from Lakeside. From the top of the Twister at Elitch's, you could see the Vegas lights of the entry tower at Lakeside.
Now, Elitch's was classier. It maybe had better rides. And it was neater, more prone to fresh paint and never a lightbulb out of place. But Lakeside had seedy charm. There was a Fun House and far fewer families went after dark. It was a brilliant hub of overdressed late-teen and twenty-something single life.
Back in the day.
Now the Fun House is gone, possibly a victim of insurance regulations.‡‡‡ Every third ride was deconstructed or closed for repair.
Though the park was supposed to open at 6:00, there wasn't the slightest movement to test the rides, set up the ticket booths, start the hot dogs a-grillin'... it was an employee ghost town until nearly 6:30. At that time, four rides were running.
As the night went on, more rides opened - the ones that weren't under repair or chopped for parts - probably to save on payroll.§§§
The Wildcat coaster was fun and the Zoom was great fun.¶¶¶
But we left at 9:30, having ridden everything but the Merry-Go-Round, and agreed that we could go another 20 years without going to Lakeside.
[SUMMARY: We are crossing things OFF the list, Steve and I.]
That's how I spent my summer vacation.
Coming soon... current events. Like tomatoes. And knitting.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Through words, pictures and footnotes, and mostly as an exercise in cleaning off my camera.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In April.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nudity! Alcohol! Adult situations!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only place besides Steve's living room where anyone has understood my rock-paper-scissors-lizard-spock shirt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seedier than field full of wheat, sadder than a lost puppy.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except that year we didn't.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Up from 54% the previous year.
§§FOOTNOTE (a twisty, windy road): Heh. Twelve.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Of which there may been more of even than children.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two left feet): As a tiny, geeky confession, I worked at the Renaissance Festival in the summer of 1986. It's what you do if you're a theatre major with a Dungeons & Dragons past.
##FOOTNOTE (tic tac): So cute he made me baby talk. And I usually only do that ironically. Hey! Ironic Babytalk would be a great name for a band.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): NOT to be confused with the travesty that is Six Flags Elitch Gardens, and current home (right across the street from the theatre) of your dear ol' AntiM - I live where (I say) the floral clock used to be. Steve says it was the administration building. Until we have pictures, I'm sticking with "floral clock."
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (old fashioned wooden coaster tracks): Steve thinks maybe an ADA thing, though he kept saying "ADD," which I thought was funny.
§§§FOOTNOTE (a shocking turn of events): Steve thinks maybe more because the employees straggle in, hungover, whenever they straggle in.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright brigade): Which is a skyshot like the one on top of the Stratosphere in Vegas, with a slow lift followed by a free-fall. I couldn't help point out (because I'm twelve) that it looked like a giant, colour-changing penis against the dusky sky, to which Steve added the image of a cock ring carrying people up and down it. Quite ruined the ride for Steve.
In which we briefly explore† Dr. Doom Turns 6,% Lake McConaughy,‡ the Colorado Renaissance Festival§ and Lakeside Amusement Park.¶
Dr. Doom's 6th birthday was animal-themed and included a visit from the Jungle Lady and her many reptiles, amphibians and bugs.
There was a snake cake.
A rubber gift snake for the birthday boy...
...which maybe should have been presented at the end of the show for minimal distraction.
Anyway, there was snake discussion.
And snake jewelry, both in the form of a Scarlet Kingsnake bracelet...
...and a python necklace.
I don't know about you, but I would never want to subject a snake to a passel of six-year-olds. Six is a... squirrely age. Though it was worth the price of admission for this exchange:
"My brother found a snake when he was camping and he caught it and he brought it home and now he has, like, six snakes."
"My brother is in jail."
The turtle races were pretty good too.
[SUMMARY: And a good time was had by all... except maybe the snakes.]
The annual trip to The Lake included a record 757,000 kids this year...
...but that didn't stop me from crossing "skinny dipping" off my bucket list.
As has become tradition,†† Shanny and I stayed up late one night at the campfire chatting, stargazing and exploring the funky, soulful world of Shanny's massive music collection.
Just after the moon dipped below the southeastern horizon, Shanny said, "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but it's a beautiful night, the weather's perfect, the moon's gone down and there's nobody around. You want to try skinny dipping?"
There we were, neck-deep in water, looking at the rural sky coated in a crust of stars. The water was cool, but not chill. Nothing nibbled at protruberances. The small-town tide lapped at our every nerve ending. We chatted, then wrapped up and got warm by the fire.
The next morning, Connie greeted me with, "I understand you got naked with my husband last night." And she giggled.
I love my friends.
Other than that, there was the usual water, sky, recreation...
Well, the Wave Runner was new this year.
But there was the usual floatilla of shiny plastic inflatables.
And the campfire.
In scientific news, The Lake was up 27 feet from where it was last year when we were there - at 96% capacity.‡‡
There wasn't a lot of beach to go around and we teamed up with a group of campers to hold our grove...
...which was under surveillance from the myriad campers who didn't come in on Thursday and maybe never found a spot to pitch their tents.§§
But, like the steadfast dragonflies,@ we held our space for the weekend.
Until it was time to say goodbye for another year.
[SUMMARY: A good time was had by all.]
Steve isn't skydiving this summer, so he has a mess of time to do other things. Under the auspices of "I haven't been to the Renaissance Festival in twenty years or more," we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival.¶¶
My how things have changed. Like Times Square, Disney has had its influence. Y'all know I've got nothing against pirates, but a good quarter of the faire now seems to be devoted to Captain Jack Sparrow.
There are no wenches, those dingy, corseted broads who kissed men with overpainted lips of crimson, neon pink and orange for a dollar. All in all, the thing where absolutely everybody is trying some gimmick to get a buck is gone.
On the bright side, there were greyhounds and ducks and the cutest little piggle## you ever did see. And a spiffy carillon.
On the other hand, a museum of medieval torture devices that was simply awful. And not for the torture.
Plus? A woman in full costume was brandished a frickin' Twilight umbrella and talking on her cell phone when the rain started. That's so not 15th century.
We decided we don't need a Renaissance Festival fix for another 20 years.
[SUMMARY: Disney should stick with movies.]
Steve and I also visited Lakeside Amusement Park.
Back in the day, Steve an I both worked at the historic Elitch Gardens,††† which was only blocks from Lakeside. From the top of the Twister at Elitch's, you could see the Vegas lights of the entry tower at Lakeside.
Now, Elitch's was classier. It maybe had better rides. And it was neater, more prone to fresh paint and never a lightbulb out of place. But Lakeside had seedy charm. There was a Fun House and far fewer families went after dark. It was a brilliant hub of overdressed late-teen and twenty-something single life.
Back in the day.
Now the Fun House is gone, possibly a victim of insurance regulations.‡‡‡ Every third ride was deconstructed or closed for repair.
Though the park was supposed to open at 6:00, there wasn't the slightest movement to test the rides, set up the ticket booths, start the hot dogs a-grillin'... it was an employee ghost town until nearly 6:30. At that time, four rides were running.
As the night went on, more rides opened - the ones that weren't under repair or chopped for parts - probably to save on payroll.§§§
The Wildcat coaster was fun and the Zoom was great fun.¶¶¶
But we left at 9:30, having ridden everything but the Merry-Go-Round, and agreed that we could go another 20 years without going to Lakeside.
[SUMMARY: We are crossing things OFF the list, Steve and I.]
That's how I spent my summer vacation.
Coming soon... current events. Like tomatoes. And knitting.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Through words, pictures and footnotes, and mostly as an exercise in cleaning off my camera.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In April.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nudity! Alcohol! Adult situations!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only place besides Steve's living room where anyone has understood my rock-paper-scissors-lizard-spock shirt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seedier than field full of wheat, sadder than a lost puppy.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except that year we didn't.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Up from 54% the previous year.
§§FOOTNOTE (a twisty, windy road): Heh. Twelve.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Of which there may been more of even than children.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two left feet): As a tiny, geeky confession, I worked at the Renaissance Festival in the summer of 1986. It's what you do if you're a theatre major with a Dungeons & Dragons past.
##FOOTNOTE (tic tac): So cute he made me baby talk. And I usually only do that ironically. Hey! Ironic Babytalk would be a great name for a band.
†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): NOT to be confused with the travesty that is Six Flags Elitch Gardens, and current home (right across the street from the theatre) of your dear ol' AntiM - I live where (I say) the floral clock used to be. Steve says it was the administration building. Until we have pictures, I'm sticking with "floral clock."
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (old fashioned wooden coaster tracks): Steve thinks maybe an ADA thing, though he kept saying "ADD," which I thought was funny.
§§§FOOTNOTE (a shocking turn of events): Steve thinks maybe more because the employees straggle in, hungover, whenever they straggle in.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright brigade): Which is a skyshot like the one on top of the Stratosphere in Vegas, with a slow lift followed by a free-fall. I couldn't help point out (because I'm twelve) that it looked like a giant, colour-changing penis against the dusky sky, to which Steve added the image of a cock ring carrying people up and down it. Quite ruined the ride for Steve.
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